Another Ditch in the Road
by MeghanJinx
Summary: Tired of Lucius and his abuse, Narcissa takes on the matter in her own way...a violent way...a way like murder...


Another Ditch in the Road

Another Ditch in the Road

By: Meghan~Jinx

Author's note: Those lyrics? They're from 'Two Beds and a Coffee Machine' by my boys, Savage Garden. Okay, here's what I want you to do (providing you have a player) try to find the mp3 to this song, download it, and play it as you read this. And some of me is in here. Like Narcissa crying over the album. I thought that at one time. I was all alone at night, couldn't sleep as usual. Something was haunting me, and I knew it. But I didn't know what. So I started thinking. And those things surfaced. And I kind of made myself cry. ^^; 

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Rating PG-13: For abuse and homicidal contemplation. 

Thank you: Starfish Girl, as always, a great beta reader, who seems to get _everything_ I miss. Thank you for your compliments to my story. ^^; The best. And to two of my real-life friends, Amber and Aimee, who listen to me ramble and make me feel better when I'm in on of Those Moods. And to Paige Collins, (who I _know_ is lying) gave me lots of support for this fic. Love you all.

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Another bruise to try and hide

Another alibi to write

Another lonely highway in the dark of night

But there's hope in the darkness

You know you're going to make it

And so like the echoes of yesterday's past, I looked at the deserted scene, disbelieving. This time, it is in my own mind.

The center of the wild emotions that control you.

That controls me.

That controls him.

If he even _has_ what we call emotions. 

And I watch here, as the moon rises slowly through the tall windows, burning like a lucid white sun in the dark night. 

It falls upon me. And talks to me, and touches me with unseen hands. It illuminates the tears I so fervently try to hide. And yet… and yet I do not stop them, when they shall fall. I let them run their course, like small rivers down my cheekbones, and disappear on my sobbing lips, speaking the words none has ever spoken in the presence: hold me, because now, _now_, I need you. Because we always miss our hidden agendas, wishing the other knew what was on our mind.

But you… you are the monstrosity. You're the creature that was pulled from this tormented recklessness, and endless seas of one-way conversations that always ended in three things. 

Blood.

Tears.

And solitude.

But ah, what solitude can do for one. Solitude, in its own perfect way, is beautiful. Like the tears I cry, you say. 

The scene replays in my mind, over and over again, each time filling me with it's ghastly poison, and reopening earlier wounds.

And how they bleed.

They bleed like crazy.

Do I want the wounds to close? They are the only way you notice my voice. But when you do hear me, the sound is so weak, like an ambiguous whisper from a grave, calling you, and spinning you into its fantasy world.

I wonder what could I have done to make you less angry? What did I _do_ to stir up your fiery temper? How could I have been better? Tell me. Because now I want to be good. I want to be good to you. I want to be good for you.

Was it good for you?

Is the screaming the only sound that quiets your twisted soul, so gnarled and distorted, it curled around your black heart, and swirled it into a blanket of dark eternity known as evil?

I'll be quiet when I'm told. I'll be a good wife. I'm yours. I'm yours for keeps.

×…×…×

The only sound in the dining room was the sounds of eating. Like there should be. It was such a typical sound. Clinking forks, chewing… but sans the atmosphere. It held the lack of everything a family dinner is. No conversation. Like old war enemies eating together, sending each other messages that were full of venom and hatred. And the very air was tinged with a taste of displeasure, so uncomfortable, that the only things on the minds of the occupants was _finish and leave…finish and leave…_

My eyes moved to my son, who sat in the chair there, so unconcerned, and ignorant to the ever-present troubles that lie betwixt the folds of this family. 

My husband lifted his eyes from the space around him.

"Narcissa? After dinner, get dressed. We've been given a last minute invitation to a party."

I swallowed the bite I was chewing. I had been looking at my plate. Hardly anything. I'd eaten hardly anything.

"Where?"

"The Macnairs," he said shortly.

I smiled a very tense, curt smile in his direction. "Lucius? I told you I never wanted to go back to the Macnairs again."

"And why not?"

"We've been over this. I don't want to go."

"You _are_ going, you know."

"Let's stay home tonight, Lucius," I said in a quite reasonable manner.

"No, Narcissa. You're not staying home tonight. This could mean a lot to my standings, if you could conceive of what I mean."

"I already told you I didn't want to go."

"I can't see why you're making such a big deal over this—"

"I'm not. Lucius, it's a simple matter of principles."

"Who care about your inconsequential, petty little principles? I say you're going, and that's final."

Draco caught my eye. His look was questioning. _What are you doing_? 

And pleading. _Just go with him. Do what he says_…

But I am so tired with the idea of being a tool. Women are not objects… not trophies to be won. The game of love isn't even a game at all if you don't play fair with your prize. Which is just what Lucius considers me to be. A prize. Something he won and can jerk about as he pleases. 

I am not weak.

But I hardly show it. Because that's what I was taught to do all my life. _Never_ show any emotions. Be as glass as possible.

But I did not want to live like this any longer. I'm sorry if it ruined your plans. I'm so very sorry.

"What's final? You don't own me. I can do as I please."

Draco's chair pushed backwards. He was sensing a storm and taking shelter from the lightening. "May I please be ex—"

"You stay right you are," snarled Lucius. Draco looked visibly affronted. Of course, Lucius had said things like that to him before. He had done worse, while we're at it.

"Well, I'll going to excuse myself," I snapped.

"_Sit_," growled Lucius.

I stared at him with disbelieving eyes. "Lucius. I am my _own _person. I can do as I please!"

With this, he jumped up to stand next to me. He was much taller, towering over me. I shrank back. 

For the first time tonight, I was afraid. Mortally afraid of my husband. My lover. My supposed _equal_. 

"Narcissa… don't make this hard…"

My eyes went back to Draco. The fear…the fear than shone in his gray eyes, wide and fearful. There, he saw himself. On the spot. Helpless. _Submissive_. And he couldn't _do_ anything about it.

"What am I do that is so hard?" I asked, my tone still fierce. "I told you what I want. I told you what I _don_'_t _want. And you still act as though you control me. As an actual human being, I have choices. Choice one—go with your greedy will. No I don't think I want to do that. That leaves one other option. Make my mind up for myself. Process of elimination. Does that appeal, in any way, to you?"

A sharp sound rang out. Followed by intense pain on my cheek. 

He had hit me.

How dare he even think so! As though I am weak-willed. As though he pull my strings.

Snip.

My hand moved instinctively to my cheek where my flesh was hot, and undoubtedly red, for Draco was now staring at his father, sickened and terrified. I wanted to walk away, and wrap my arms around him… and him sit my lap, like when he was scared as a little boy, and all his father's paternal instincts were to hurt him and mock him for crying.

I wonder why I never left sooner.

"Don't ever touch me again!" I snarled. My hand stuck to strike him, but his arm, like a vicious whip, snapped out and grabbed my arm. He jerked it violently.

"Narcissa…" He pulled me closer…closer…so close I could feel his breath. "You're a woman. I'm the man in the house. I make the decisions." He paused for a self-righteous chuckle. So much power into that laugh. So like he was mocking my very _being_… like I was a complete nonentity. He pulled my arm forcefully. This time, I felt my feet lifted. Holding me up. Like always. " You were always a little _liberated_ weren't you, my darling? Disillusioned with views of 'equal rights' for women too. You women never understand. You're nothing without me, Narcissa. No beauty. No money. No one loves a woman like you for being yourself. You're _nothing_ without me, do you understand that?" With those last words, he shot me a disgusted glance as I dropped to the floor. Hot, rushing tears overcame my ducts. I swallowed them most quickly.

I wouldn't cry.

So help me. So help me _God_, I wouldn't cry.

I never did.

I never…cried.

I looked up at him. Shocked. I must have looked so sorrowful. Pitiful. Don't pity me. Pity Lucius. Yes, that's it, Lucius. I pity you. I pity you for being so horrible.

You'll regret it. You'll _burn_ for this. Burn eternally. And I'll watch from my lonely perch somewhere, laughing gloriously at divine justice being served so sweetly bitter.

Give me that taste.

My gaze now went back to Draco, the bystander, the so _innocent _bystander.

His face was now transformed –contorted almost – into a look of livid fury.

"Don't touch her like that!" he roared, breathing in ragged pants.

"What did you say?" asked Lucius, turning on him.

"I said, don't ever touch her like that. She doesn't deserve it. If you need to hit someone, hit someone that'll hit back." He lifted his hands and indicated to his unprotected chest. "Go ahead. Hit me."

The next thing I knew, Draco had flown against the wall and hit it with a crunch. I winced. Lucius had him trapped now.

"Never talk to me like that, boy. EVER!"

Draco was the animal now. I was his mother.

I did nothing.

And now, I was faced with another choice. Who I hated more at the moment: Lucius, or myself. I was repulsed by both of us. His rage. My cowardice. Or maybe I hated Draco now. For being such a wonderful, brave son. For being my hero. And I the damsel was watching her knight being bloody _ripped apart_ by the dragon. Some payback I could give. Some thanks.

And my knight was my son. How tragically sickening.

Lucius gave a sudden outcry of anger, rage, and pain. He was clutching his arm, his eyes closed. His Dark Mark. His master calling him. His master. He was a slave also. But by choice. By _choice_. And I, sitting on that wretched stone floor, watching _him_ in pain, and swallowing it like delicious ecstasy. 

"Your punishment will come later," he hissed at Draco.

His eyes now had that wicked, wild look. He spun, and stalked away, but not before lifting a delicate glass from the table and hurtling it against the wall.

There, it splintered into a hundred pieces so quickly.

Each peace was like a thought or idea. A though of why he didn't love me. And there they were, lying broken on the ground. The glass, the ideas, and myself…each was beyond repair. And nothing could change that.

Draco now was rigidly looked at the place where Lucius had once stood. Then he looked to me. Slowly shook his head, his jaw twitching, as though fighting the urge to cry, and walked away, leaving me there. And heaven knows I deserved it.

×…×…×

The cover was maroon. It held no text… just color. Simplicity is gorgeous. As gorgeous as complications can be. But complication clouds the horizon of thought in your mind. Yet, simplicity will take you absolutely nowhere, if anywhere is where you are getting at.

The pictures were merely family portraits. Pictures of friends. Pictures of Draco as a baby. 

We had three of them. Albums. One was General. One was devoted to Draco. One was wedding pictures of Lucius and I getting married— the one album that brought me pain. At home painted and plastic I looked there. Like it was a painting more than a photo. It hurt.

General album did nothing for my mood. Friends. Nothing I wanted.

With a hand as heavy as my heart, I brought the Draco album to my lap. Knowing all along what I'd find, I opened it. Like a fool, I did. Like a fool.

The first picture was a picture of Draco (at least four, he must have been) sitting on the very same sofa I sitting on, in the very same room. So small, and young. Unspoiled by the world's harshness. Pristine, clean mind. His arms were crossed, and he was leaning back, looking relaxed. I have no clue, why he was there, or what he was doing, or even what day it was.

But it was one of _those_ pictures. The kind that bring back a flood of memories. Not memories with images, but feelings. Like a certain time period. And everything from that point reminds you of something –anything– that went on during then. A heat in your chest, or a cavern of suppressed emotions rising again in the back of your mind.

I remember Draco being young like that. My, how the years have changed my baby. Kind and sweet, to cynical, untrusting, unfeeling. Like his father. Who was the whole reason he was like he is. His _fault_! Doesn't anyone see it?

Lucius was worst than, if one can think about that. He was ten years younger, he drank more then. Always drunk. Always ranting. No wonder. I don't doubt…

I remember one time. Lucius had come home drunk again. But this time, he was trying calm down. He had had a _terrible_ day at his job. He had found Draco, who was trying to avoid him until he was sober. And he grew angry over something very minor (my memory has lost it now). So small, I wouldn't have ever thought of it. He was onto every move Draco made. Perfectionist. 

And he beat Draco. 

For the sadistic pleasure of taking out his fury on something that wouldn't fight back.

And I watched him.

I never helped Draco.

Lucius is so right about my weakness.

He was always hitting him for a trivial thing. Grades. Being himself.

And I always sat back and watched. I feel horrible now… every time I instigated any sort of punishment of that sort. I didn't know what to do. I was never close to my son. We were so distant. Sometimes (times like now) I'll sit back and remember Draco as an infant. Or as a little boy. He was always very loving, and open, and cheerful. I wonder, _what happened to my little baby_? Like I've opened my eyes, and he's a teenager, who doesn't need my love now. The years go by so fast, it a blur. I feel like a businessman. A man who was obsessed with his work. And everyday, he would make a time to talk to his kids, to learn about them. To be around his family. He missed the deadline each deadline _each_ time. And moved it back. For years. _Tomorrow_. That cursed word. Coinciding with _yesterday_. And one day, he finally decides to do it. To be a family father again. He comes how to play with his children. But they're adults. With children of their own. And he wonders _how_ he missed their childhood. Where was his window?

That was my scenario. 

I get time to be with him, but he's grown. And I fell asleep yesterday, and woke up, and he had _aged_.

Like I said, a _blur_.

And I couldn't make sense of one thing I saw in that whirl of humanity. 

Everyday you say that _tomorrow_ I'll do it. But some time or another, you awake and realize this _is_ tomorrow. You say the future. The future is today. It's so depressing when you see that this is _it_. This is the only thing left.

You should give up. Give up and lie there to die.

What's left?

And I wonder if I was to be dead and gone, would they care? What if Lucius fell asleep one night after a fight. After violence. Then he awakes in the morning, I'm cold. I'm a corpse. He'll be sorry that he never apologized. I took his last angry words to the grave. I hope he'd cry. Cry over my lifeless form. Cry over my pale, breathless, still body.

I realized tears were running down my face. They had dripped upon the page. I closed the book with a slight _snap_. I didn't need to see anymore.

What I wanted –craved– was to see the lovely wedding photographs. To see Lucius in love again.

The first picture was a picture of me laughing in my sweeping, snow white wedding gown, a garland of beautiful flowers I can't say I recognize atop my long, curled hair. I looked so happy…and carefree and _young_ so very young. The next was of Lucius. So handsome, he was. And in this picture he was smiling. He must have been quite happy (or forced to do so), for he rarely smiles. Well, not anymore. He did, at one time, but that was so long ago. It was a plastic smile, though. It was genuine, joking and contented with the world. I drew everything from his eyes, which glittered excitedly, like Draco's eyes do from time to time. Draco looked so much like his father. In that picture I saw Draco.

Afterwards, was a photo of the two of us. Hand in hand. I myself was staring at the camera, laughing. But Lucius's eyes were locked on me, a look of meaning and reason, and just _love_ in his eyes. Almost as though _this _was his state of pleasure. His divine ecstasy was to stay with me, in that moment, in that photo, forever.

Frozen forever. I appreciate reminders such as this, that show that once upon a time, there was a prince and he adored his lady fair, and they wed to live happily ever after.

Is this the ending? Sitting here, wishing to go back…

My gaze never lifted. As long as I watched that scene, another memory (the feeling kind— the kind without images) drifted to me like a pleasant emotion. Warm sun… love…beauty…a day in June, so far away…

I wished I still knew him. 

The magnificent clock on the wall chimed midnight. The fabled Witching Hour. The hour that the plot unfolds in every mystery. How would I solve this case?

Lucius should be home—

_Click_. 

The door. I heard it shut, and as it did, a ripple of electric fear ripped through my chest. Yet, the door hadn't _slammed_, it had been shut calmly. Maybe he was not angry anymore now. Maybe he would love me again.

I watched door, waiting. But then, I felt pressure behind me on the couch. Someone had sat down. I asked no questions to as whom it was.

"So…" I whispered, not turning around, "You're back."

"Yes, Narcissa I am," came _his_ voice, quietly. "To stay."

"Now that you're here, don't you have business to do in your study? Some matters, perhaps?"

"Nothing that I can't do right here."

"I-I don't want to talk, Lucius."

He ignored this. "What have you got there?"

Silence.

He took it upon himself. "Ah… a photograph album. Reliving the past again?"

"Better the past then now." The room was quiet once more. Only the fire raging in the hearth.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"I came here… I came here to apologize, Narcissa. I feel sorry." I felt his hands lift my hair from my neck, and to my right shoulder. Lucius leaned from the left.

I felt his lips on my neck. Planting kisses. 

"Say you're sorry, Narcissa," he whispered into my ear. His hand went down my arm, and wrapped around my middle. Tantalizing. Inviting. "Please. I won't leave until you say yes."

"Sorry for what? And don't do this to me, Lucius! Don't pull me around like this!" I spun quickly to look at him.

He stared at me, surprised. His hand lifted, as he stroked my cheek, brushing away a tear. "You've been crying, Narcissa. Why have been crying?"

"Because I knew you would do this! Come back wanting me again. And then the next time… you'll leave me again… and then… where will I…?"

His response? A kiss. A short, but wonderful kiss on my lips. My tear stained lips.

I licked them.

"You've been drinking," I accused, scooting away from his warm body. The new section was cold.

"Only a reasonable amount."

"Don't come near me! I don't want you near me."

"Why?" he asked, taking me by both my arms sharply and turning me a mere degree to face him. "Why are you making this hard, flower? You know what you want to say. Don't go making it difficult now. Don't you do that."

"Why shouldn't I? Tell me a reason why." I broke away from his grasp.

"Because this time will be different, Narcissa. Everything will get better…you'll see…"

What happened next, I hated. I became his toy again. I caved… and was crushed in the rocks and mass that ensued. I, like a pitiful excuse for my own wretched body, believed _every_ word he fed me. And fed me. 

But when you are starved, even the smallest _morsel_ will taste so sweet.

×…×…×

I recall the night's events as though they are nothing. They are so frequent however, one incident leads to the next, and they run together, flowing into the hole and flesh, and killing the ego I once had. Maybe he is doing me _some_ good, after all. But I am left clinging to my shreds, my fabric, to my last scrap of dignity.

I've turned over, so Lucius can't hear me cry. Forbid, forbid he ever hears me. I sob to the wall, and watch the moon set, through the curtains, so it is blurred, but still breathtaking. Like my view on love. To heavens, to the dirt, to your mind, oh, how it hurts.

_He'll do it again, Narcissa_. Warning…warning…warning… _You know it_. I do know it. 

I must end it.

Tomorrow, he will awake, and storm about, and he'll hurt Draco again, he'll order me around (like a personal servant), and then, when it is over, he'll be a lover again, wanting a second chance.

A second thousand.

I wish now, that I could prolong the night. It is two, the moon is gone now, and I wish I could stop time forever. Destroy the hourglass.

Break it like glass. Like the glass downstairs we left, an ugly scar of how people never relate.

And now I think, I think… if I can't slow time, can I slow _Lucius_?

I would never _kill_ him. Not a matter of sinning, but a matter of I'm too weak to so it. I'm not brave enough. I'd never survive. 

If I never do, on the other, evil hand, he'll eventually kill me. If not physically, that spiritually. Emotionally. 

But how? How does one commit the perfect murder while being discreet? Firstly, you stage an incident. An automobile accident, other things of that like. Next, you give supporting evidence. Make calls. Book tickets. Make _evidence_. 

Then you kill. 

But this was all talk of course—how would _I_ of all people, _murder_?

Then I remember the glass…so intense and sharp downstairs.

And I slide from beneath the covers, tossing them aside ever so gently, so they would never suspect. My feet hit the cold, hard floor. Then I pad across the room, softly. And down the wonderful, sweeping, golden staircase.

It's very cool down here, this time of night, and time stands still. The quiet… the dark… the huge window over the staircase… the last of the moonlight shining through, casting shadows around. Through the hall, past Draco's room.

And to the dining room. Where my weapon awaits.

I reach out slowly, for the knob, gleaming… silent is the game… I feel the cool metal beneath my fingers as I turn it, the polished wooden door creaking. It reveals the scene.

I bring no candle. Only myself. There, past the table, is the glass, in a pile, left untouched. _Why didn't a servant clean it_? But I'm glad they didn't. Lucius would be angered. But how does a dead man feel?

I reach over and select a piece, so clear and harmless seeming. Seeming. The edge is sharp. This piece is quite large…nearly as big as my palm. Perfection.

Then, as speechlessly and noiselessly as I have come, I leave. A tool between my fingers.

Across the rooms. Up the stairs. Down the hall to his doom.

_But what if has awoken_? I wonder, fear now overcoming me. Then I shall do it quickly, painlessly, and swift.

I slide my hand between the wedge of room that separates the wall from the door. A sliver of light is cast in. I walk in it. 

Towards the bed I go… the weapon poised and ready for battle. 

And there he is. His back is turned to me, his hair all over the pillow, so angelic, so peaceful. So savage and horrible.

I wait. Standing. He finally turns over, his heart exposed to me. Yes… yes… he should be right.

I raise the glass so slowly over my head, straight for the center, ready to sent down—

Then a funny thing happened. He smiled, smiled in his dream. Maybe he was dreaming of me. I hoped he was. He had always said I was in his dreams at night. Little did he know, he was in my nightmares.

I didn't see a cold-hearted machine. I see the father of my son. I see my lover. I see my young boyfriend. I see the boy next door I grew up with. I see my best friend. I see my confidant…my world…

I see the man in the photograph.

_What _am _I doing_? I think, lowering the glass, and looking at it.

How could I harm the One?

Then the glass slides from my hand. He was very correct, the man. He _was_ my center. He _was_ everything. I'd never live without him. I'd _collapse_ without.

I crumple with the glass, dropping to my knees on the floor, sobs dissolving my resolution. How could I even think such? How could I? How _dare_ I?

I'll cry softly, here, waiting for morning to come. I want to be yours, Lucius. I want to be your object. I want to be your wife. It is like I would predict. Just another argument.

Another hole.

Another hour.

Not so unusual. 

Just another day.

__

Another ditch in the road

Keep moving

Another stop sign

You keep moving on

And the years go by so fast

Silent fortress built to last

Wonder how I ever made it.

Authors Note: It's over! Took me long enough. :) Anyway, I've been severely busy. I know, I know. Not a sufficient excuse… but trust me, it's good. Hehe. I'm moving to a different house, and we have until, like, the sixteenth or something to move out. So we have to hustle.

Oh, and guess what I'm doing Monday? Job Shadowing! If anyone might have taken a Career Discovery course, they'll know that it's where students from that class get to be an apprentice of sorts to a person in a work area. Who am I shadowing? A kindergarten teacher! I can't wait! It'll be so much fun…hehehe…


End file.
